Turkey: Safranbolu

Metro’s bus leaving at 14:00 is already full. (This is the reason why you should buy ticket in advance) Not wanting to wait until 1600, I follow a runner for Safran bus company to buy ticket for 15:00 (actually he lies, the bus leaves at 1530). There must be a fierce competition so you should not worry getting ripped off. Safran bus is not recommended in the Lonely Planet, but it charges the same 15 liras as Metro and drops you off at Safranbolu instead of Karabuck.

I am assigned to a seat on the first row, sitting next to an old lady. More people get on filling the back of the bus; I bite my finger nails, look around and open my guide book. Normally I read the section about the city I am current at or those I’m going next, but at that time I flip to the back of the book, skim and read the part about Women Travellers.

Men and unrelated women are not expected to sit beside each other in buses or dolmuses and lone women are often assigned seat at the front of the bus near the driver.

Immediately, I turn my head and wow most women are sitting behind while men occupy the middle and the back of the bus, exactly as described in the book. from that moment, the concept of Turkey’s being traditional and segregated society begins to take hold.

Traveling in winter has one big disadvantage. Days are very short. It is only 18:00 and it is already pitch-dark outside. I am getting a bit worried because I am not sure how to find hotel in this condition, let alone find the one in the historical center a few kilometers away from the otogar. The free shuttle bus from the otogar drops in Kirankoy in front of Metro bus company. I stand there for another ten minutes looking at street names hoping to locate them on the simple map of the old town Carsi. I move about a few meters when two young Turks approach me. “What do you need? We can help you.” A sympathetic, innocent looking one asks. Well, this is not Sultanahmet. There is no carpet nor souvenir shop around. These guys probably are not looking to “build relationship” with me for the reason you-know-what. Following two male strangers at night is not something I recommend to solo female travelers. But after a few days traveling in Turkey, I have a feeling that Turkish men are genuinely nice. Also, I usually make gut decision, and I think that these young men are trustable. We turn left at the intersection to a market street and turn right at Ulu Cami Yani passing a few hotels/pensions to reach Yorgancioglu Konak. After a string of laughing and misunderstanding because of the language barrier, they offer me a room for 20 lira per night. (http://www.yorgancioglukonak.com/) There is only another couple beside me since this is the low season. I get a room with two beds for the price of one. If I prefer I could have gotten the bigger three-bed room with a bigger show stand.

Safranbolu: Carsi

Staying in not my wish because for the same amount of money and perhaps a bit more I might be able to find a cheap room in Carsi, but at least this way I can hang out with these locals, Recep and his friend, who were born and grew up right here in Safranbolu. It is a wonderful experience to walk down the winding road lit by dim light and listen to the faint sound from the river below. Recep and his friend introduce me to the nocturnal version of the old town which I surely would not do it myself even if I stay at a pension right in the Carsi. How fortunate is that you end up meeting strangers who later become your travel guide and grow up in one of the Ottoman houses you come all this way to see.

We return to Kirankoy around 22:00 to grab a late dinner in a cheap eatery, 4 liras for a small soup, pilaf (sticky rice mixed with nuts cooked in oil) and koffe (meat balls).

I wash my clothes and myself before jumping onto the ready-made bed to watch the football match between FC Bacerlona and Mallorca. It is a surprise treat as I’ve been wanting to watch Barcelona for a long time after closely monitoring their progress only on the news.

I start the next morning a bit late since I have to spend two hours in an Internshop at Kirankoy to keep up with my travel writing before following the same winding path Celik Gulersoy Caddesi downt to the Ottoman village.

As charming as it may seem, Safranbolu is only popular among Turkish people and maybe sporadic visit by Korean and Japanese tourists. Americans travel here, and Europeans come here in a very small number. Thus, you can freely roam around and enjoy the authenticity of the town. The shop owners perhaps lack tourist experience so they don’t know how to rip you off. I revisit the alleys and mosques Recep and his friend took me the night before.

The morning bazaar is now opened with many shops selling pretty much the same things: wooden crafts, hand-made leather accessories, spice and sweets. I don’t know how they make any living in this season with such a low turnout of tourists; there are more shops than the number of tourists walking this town. An old man at a leather store waves at me twice to sit down on his chair while he enters the tiny door of his shop to make me a small present. He cuts a tiny piece of red wool and sews a tiny village slipper. From time to time he keeps assuring me “small present, no charge,” but I know fairly well I can not leave here without buying something else from him. I wish he sells wooden crafts or textiles but he only make leather, jewelry and knives which are of no interest to me. Eventually I pick out a smallest hand-made cooper bell which costs 6 liras. I guess, this is the price for the red slipper, the bell and the chance to take an up-close photo of a local man at work. A little later, I find a tourist postcard featuring him making his crafts.

Here in Turkey, I don’t feel hungry really but I feel the urge to sit down in a small eatery to look at Turkish dishes, to feel the atmosphere, and to sample cheap but delicious food. I order Safranbolu Isdender at a Sofrasi (small place where you eat) behind Cinci Han, at the corner of Hidirlik Yokusu Sokak, across from Pasa Mustafa Konagi. The dish is minced meat gozleme sliced served in yogurt and red sauce. They friendly lady owner gives me two pieces of Turkish SafranTat lokum and let me sample yaprak sarma, rice-spice mixture wrapped in vine leaves when I ask if I can take a photo of her preparing the dish.

Heading out from the restaurant to Izzet Mehmet Pasa Camil, I meet Recep and his friend sitting next to the fountain. Our exchange phone number last night wasn’t successful as they could not call me, and my phone did not save their numbers. They make a funny gesture knowing that I have not visited any museum house nor the city museum; they must have thought what kind of tourist I am.  Sensing that I might miss out something important, I tell them I will hurry there now and hopefully will catch them somewhere here.

The Ottoman house Kamakamlar Gezi Evi is not something spectacular, but for only 1.5 lira, it is worth half an hour of your time. Two-storey house is divided into different sections: male/female guest, bride, main rooms etc… using manequins dressing tradional costumes.  The human side models are a bıt pooky since the rooms are dark with me being the only one there.

I return to the square where I saw Recep earlier, but not able to find them. After spending fifteen minutes searching for them, I give up and let my feet and my natural wandering sense lead me to the city museum Kent Tarihi. The top floor is unimpressive as it houses photos of past Safranbolu, newspaper articles, a governmental office and a small artifact room. The more interesting part is located at the bottom room, showing pictures of Safranboluans working on traditional handcrafts and prototypes of Safranboluan trades, pharmacist, Turkish delight , spice shops as well as saddle-maker, shoemaker and blacksmith models at work.

Leaving the museum, I run into a curious group of young girls who keep staring at me and whisper something to their parents.  A friend who visited Turkey recently warned me about Asian being rare species in Turkey. Well I get my answer after encountering many curious people, not only salesmen from Istanbul, stop me short on the street to ask me if I am Korean or Japan (they are the only Asian tourists here).  Thus being Vietnamese makes me even rarer. Usually it is me who take photos of other people, but it is the other way around here. The girls stealthily look at me and take my photos with their cell phones from afar. When I walk pass them, they walk faster to keep being ın front of me just to take another look at my face as if  there aren’t enough Koreans and Japanese tourists here already.

Not able to find Recep and his friend anymore, I walk out to the road full of confident I am on the same road I walked here last night and this morning to get here. But who am I kidding? Being me, I’m not surprised realizing that I am working to somewhere else and not home. An old woman who can see details in my small map, a group of Turkish boys and two Turkish police who stops a minibus, I find myself squeezing with other Turks back into Kirankoy.